


Sweet Bee Drabbles

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Sweet Bee Stories [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Flirting, Rating May Change, Romance, Sweet B - Freeform, Sweet Bee, Sweet Bee Drabbles, Swetty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: A collection of the Sweet Bee/Swetty-centric drabbles I've previously posted on my Tumblr (forasecondtherewedwon), each based on one or multiple prompts, as requested by my followers. Drabble collections also available in Bughead, Varchie, Choni, Falice, and other flavours.





	1. The Prize Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 63: “What do you mean? It’s exciting!” and prompt 74: “You don’t know you the way I do.”

“Do we have enough cereal?” Betty wondered aloud, letting her gaze drift down the breakfast foods aisle as she wheeled by, draped over the handle of the grocery cart. She halted, puzzling over the shopping list, even though she knew she wouldn’t find “cereal” there―it was one of the things they went through so quickly, she nearly always bought some when she was out. But then, she’d already gone out once this week.

Sweet Pea came up behind Betty, bending down to wrap long arms around her waist and fit himself to her. His chin settled on the top of her head.

“What does the list say?” he inquired. Betty smiled to herself.

“List says you need to stop eating breakfast twice a day.”

Sweet Pea’s cheek rubbed across her head and came down to press into her own.

“You shouldn’t have made me read _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Second breakfast is fucking genius.” He hastily kissed her cheek. She sighed. “I’m sure we’re fine for cereal. If I combine the end of the bag of Froot Loops with the end of the Cap’n Crunch…”

“Ok, we’re getting cereal,” she stated, turning down the aisle while Sweet Pea peeled away from her.

“I was just explaining my brilliant plan to make it work!”

“It won’t be enough,” Betty argued, glaring at one of the grocery cart’s wheels when it swung the wrong way and rattled.

“Sure it will. I’ll pace myself.” Sweet Pea jogged up alongside her. Betty glanced at him and noticed the way he was already staring lovingly at the colourful cereal boxes lining the shelf. She raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t know you the way I do,” she replied, contemplating an undented box of Froot Loops. She turned to Sweet Pea, making a brief study of him, standing there with his hands in his back pockets under florescent lights. He still looked gorgeous. “And when have you ever paced yourself in your life?” Betty asked with a laugh.

With a sneaky look in his eye, he approached, running his hands over her hips.

“We’re in public,” she reminded him, though she could feel her cheeks flushing.

“Not really,” he pointed out. “Most people sleep in on Sunday, not race to the grocery store to be there when it opens.”

“I didn’t want to waste the whole d―”

He cut off her retort with a kiss that, for a long moment, did make Betty wish they’d spent that particular Sunday morning in bed, back at their apartment. When his fingers crept under the hem of her t-shirt, she broke the kiss, a little dizzy, and rotated in his arms to face the wall of options. She shivered when his hands smoothed higher.

“Which one would you like?” she asked, a little breathless. He cupped her breasts over her bra, squeezing one, then the other.

“I have to choose just one?”

Betty rolled her eyes. Hard. As if he’d sensed it, Sweet Pea pulled away, his sluggishness making his reluctance clear to her. A quick slap of her ass startled her as he moved away to deliberate over the cereal boxes.

“OOOH!” he practically shouted after a few seconds. “This one! It says it has a code inside that you can enter online and they’ll send you a toy.”

“A toy?” Betty asked, unimpressed. She leaned an elbow on the handle of the grocery cart.

“Yeah,” he said seriously. Sweet Pea’s back was to her as he stood, totally engrossed by his literature of choice: the back of a cereal box. “From the picture, it looks like a bobblehead or something.”

“Sweet Pea,” she complained, “that’s stupid.” Normally, Betty wasn’t a whiner, but the longer they loitered in one spot, the faster the 7am wake up time was catching up with her. Before this detour, they’d been flying through the store, checking things off the list left and right. It was perfect having Sweet Pea along, as he could easily reach things from higher shelves. Though now it seemed she’d offended her helper; he was frowning at her.

“What do you mean? It’s exciting!”

“Alright,” she conceded, stretching a hand out for the box and watching her boyfriend’s mouth open into a wide smile, “give it to me.”

He handed the box over and raised his eyebrows at her, tucking a fallen strand from her sloppy early morning ponytail behind her ear.

“Damn, Betty,” Sweet Pea chastised, “not here. We’re in public!”

“Don’t make me make you walk home,” she warned, wheeling briskly away from him. Halfway down the aisle, she glanced back. Their eyes met. Betty lifted her feet onto the grocery cart’s low bar just in time for Sweet Pea to race up, cover her hands with his on the handle, and jump on behind her, using his momentum to send them zooming.


	2. With Everything Spinning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 3: “I’m not jealous.” and prompt 59: “I’m yours.”

Although the property had legally been in Cheryl’s possession for the past few months―thanks to the help of ex-mayor and current lawyer Sierra McCoy―she claimed that Thistle House wouldn’t really feel like it belonged to her until she threw one of her classically chaotic parties. Since school had ended, there had been a couple of open weekends in a row when the larger part of Cheryl’s social circle would’ve been able to attend, but when her cousin didn’t take the opportunity, Betty realized there was something else she was waiting for: the heartache of the latest (and final, as far as Betty was concerned) Bughead breakup to fade.

The arrest and incarceration of her father, Hal Cooper, AKA the Black Hood, had managed to nudge not one but several lines of dominoes, causing messy collapse throughout the community. Betty had retreated into what remained of her family unit, Jughead into that impermeable Serpent unity; two very separate directions, since her mother in particular couldn’t bear any further uncertainty and the gang had just been totally uprooted by the invasion of the Ghoulies.

Cheryl, miraculously one of a very small number of them to actually be ahead for once in her life (emancipation, house, girlfriend, etc.), had shocked Betty by not withdrawing into that happiness and leaving the rest of them to starve for it. Instead, she’d wedged herself solidly into Betty’s life. She babysat the twins when Alice fell apart and it took both Cooper daughters to get her through it. She called Betty to get her out of bed in the morning if she noticed her cousin was late for school. Once they’d weathered the roughest waves and were coasting in the clear, calm but directionless, she’d begun interfering in smaller, but even more gratitude-inducing ways. One of which, of course, was the party she was hosting while Jughead was out of town, visiting his mom and sister. And Sweet Pea… Sweet Pea was very much in town.

Betty didn’t know how it had begun, this idea of her and the tall, silent Serpent who was as quick to flash a smile as a switchblade. Had the crush originated with her or him? Or, did it exist only in giddy rumour and illusion, an implication that might never be tested, like the bite of the Serpent’s secretly venom-less snake? Whether she’d started it or was simply content to fan the fire, Cheryl needed to take some responsibility. Betty had told her so the other day over a milkshake at Pop’s after what was supposed to be a casual hangout turned into Cheryl and Toni grinning and plotting (mostly Cheryl on the latter, while her girlfriend stared at her with an indulgent smirk, leaning into the corner of their booth). Her cousin, graciously, had agreed to take responsibility for her part, but first, she’d promised―over Betty’s protests―to make her part worth claiming.

So Betty was uneasy the night of the party, not so much waiting for a second shoe to drop as for a stiletto heel to come through the wall next to her head like an arrow. At least she got a little warning, which was Cheryl saying, “Somebody find an empty bottle!”

“Seven minutes in heaven again?” Fangs asked from across the living room. He was standing with Sweet Pea and a couple other Serpents, which meant Betty hadn’t spoken to him that evening, as she now had a mortal fear of being within 10 feet of his best friend. “Doesn’t that game tend to go awry?”

From behind her, making Betty jump, Veronica laughed.

“You heard about Cheryl’s last big party then, I’m guessing.”

Cheryl waved them both off and dropped to the floor, crossing her legs under her.

“Not tonight, Fangs. Just plain old spin the bottle.” The hostess glanced around at her guests, smiling. Her eyes landed on Betty, who groaned quietly to herself. “Cousin! Why don’t you join our circle?”

Betty wanted to make an excuse, any excuse, but Archie, who’d been standing with Veronica and was apparently trying to help his best friend through her breakup in the best way his naïve, goodhearted nature knew how, pushed her forward.

Clenching her teeth, Betty took a seat on Cheryl’s left.

“I’d feel more comfortable if you were about to draw a pentagram inside this circle than spin that bottle within it,” Betty muttered.

“Witchcraft, cousin? Perhaps another night. Scoot in close, everyone,” she instructed as their unholy circle filled in.

When she spotted Fangs and Sweet Pea, closer now but still standing, Betty sighed in relief. This game could go a few spins and she’d make her escape.

“You want to go first?” Toni offered her girlfriend. Cheryl demurred, so Toni spun.

Betty was barely watching, just biding her time, until an _oooh_ went around the group. The bottle was pointed at her.

“Do you mind?” Toni checked with Cheryl. She shook her head vehemently.

“Nope, it’s just a game. I’m not jealous.” Her red lips spread in a killer smile that Betty couldn’t trust.

“Do you?” Toni asked Betty, already leaning around Cheryl.

“Um, no,” Betty said, highly suspicious of the look on her cousin’s face.

If this was Cheryl’s big play, it didn’t make sense. It was inappropriate, maybe, but Betty couldn’t see any farther than that. Possibly because Toni’s face and wavy pink hair were quickly filling her vision. Just as she smelled the girl’s last drink on her breath, Betty was grasped by the shoulder and jerked backwards. Instinctively, her hands covered the others, expecting Veronica or even Archie. One of the fingers wore a large ring. She looked way up from her seat on the carpet into Sweet Pea’s eyes. Those dark eyes moved around shiftily. Definitely a leap-before-looking kinda guy, Betty assessed.

“You wanted to talk to me!” Betty blurted, bluffing poorly, but feeling compelled to cover for the tough boy now showing an expression of earnest awkwardness. “That’s right, I forgot. Um, Kevin,” Betty grabbed her friend’s hand, “you can take my spot.”

Refusing to meet anyone’s eye―especially Cheryl’s!―Betty hurried from the room towards the front door. Cool air breezed her palm and she realized she’d still had her hand on Sweet Pea’s, and that he’d followed her. Naturally. Her heart was pounding too hard for her to be able to relax in the narrow vestibule, so Betty swung the front door open, letting in the soft sounds of midnight. Embarrassed, after a handful of seconds with the fresh air hitting her cheeks, Betty turned around to correct whatever jumbled misunderstanding had just taken place, and walked right into Sweet Pea’s chest.

Which was, evidently, precisely where he wanted her to be, because he grabbed her by the upper arms and kissed her.

“It wasn’t herself Cheryl was trying to make jealous,” Betty said, whispering her epiphany aloud when they broke apart, and staring, a little dumbstruck, into Sweet Pea’s eager face. “It wouldn’t have mattered who was supposed to kiss me. She knew you would stop it.”

“She didn’t _know_ ,” Sweet Pea replied defensively. “I mean, she guessed.” He sighed. Swallowed. Lowered his hand carefully to her waist. “Maybe she did know. My poker face has been for shit where you’re concerned.”

“Everybody has a weak spot,” Betty joked, then felt like her throat was closing up in sheer disbelief that she was somehow joking with Sweet Pea. She breathed hard a couple of times, glancing at the mouth hovering inches from her own. “I’m yours.”

“I’d like to think so,” he mumbled before kissing her again.


	3. Rather Be Spooning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 5: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?” and prompt 7: “You did what?!”

Betty was on her knees in the laundry room, sorting pastel baby clothes from even paler pastel baby clothes, when she heard Sweet Pea scream. Although she tried to rise quickly, one of her feet was asleep and she barely managed to prevent herself from toppling over the laundry basket.

“Sweet Pea?” she called back in alarm, grabbing the doorjamb and whipping herself out into the hallway. He didn’t reply.

What could be wrong? He’d accidentally hurt one of Polly’s twins? He’d seen a suspicious figure moving in the backyard? The other Black Hood, yet to be apprehended? Betty panicked as she ran to the kitchen, where she’d left Sweet Pea in charge of feeding the babies the organic, dog-food-looking mush that Polly had been recommended by someone from ‘the farm.’

When she slid on sock feet into the dining room, Betty saw both Juniper and Dagwood sitting in their highchairs, the former looking slightly startled while the latter chortled to himself, staring towards the kitchen. Betty followed the baby’s gaze to her boyfriend, who was clutching a hand to his eye.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, hurrying to him. “What happened?”

She tried to peel the hand away from his face, but Sweet Pea wouldn’t let her.

“Juniper didn’t want her orange, mashed up… whatever it was… so I gave it to Dag.”

“You did what?! Sweet Pea, I told you, Dagwood only likes the green, um, whatever it is.”

“I thought he’d play ball for me, Betty,” he explained, squinting one-eyed at her. “I figured if I sat him down, man to man… Ouch.”

Betty sighed and gripped her boyfriend by the elbow, steering him to the sink.

“Come on, you probably have baby food in your eye. Bend over the sink and wash it out.”

“Actually, I think it’s the way Dag jabbed the spoon into my eye that did the most damage,” Sweet Pea reasoned, tucking his dog tags into the neck of his t-shirt so they wouldn’t swing into the sink.

“Why was he holding the spoon?”

“Well, he wouldn’t eat the stuff when I pretended it was an airplane, a helicopter, a firetruck, or a motorboat, and I was running out of transportation noises, so I thought I’d let him have a try at it. Which is when Zorro Jr. thrust for my eyeball.”

Sweet Pea waved her off as she attempted to splash water up into his face.

“Chill, Betty. I’ve had a lot worse, you know.”

Unneeded and startled by the reminder, Betty retreated to the dining room, kissing Juniper’s forehead, then lifting the grinning and kicking Dagwood from his chair. Thank goodness nothing serious had happened and she could give a positive report to her mom and Polly when they returned home from a much needed movie night. As many times as she attempted to mollify herself with that thought, Sweet Pea’s words echoed in her head like dripping water in a cave.

“Betty?”

She glanced over to see Sweet Pea dragging the hem of his shirt across his wet face. The smile wouldn’t stick on her mouth as she approached him, Dagwood leaning forward in her arms.

“Did I scare you?”

“Of course not,” Betty replied shortly. “You don’t scare me.”

With a grin, Sweet Pea laid a hand over his heart.

“Way to kick a guy when he’s down.” She didn’t reply, rubbing her face into the side of the baby’s head. Sweet Pea groaned. “I do stupid shit, Betty. Sometimes it’s for a good reason, but that doesn’t protect me from getting hurt. I can’t just stop being the way I am because I’m with you now. The tattoo on my neck isn’t the only thing that makes me a Serpent.”

He pointed a long finger at the gang mark, exposing the old knife nicks on the back of his hand. Heart getting squeezed somewhere in her throat, Betty reached out and took that hand, balancing Dagwood in her other arm.

“I know―” she started.

“There aren’t two versions of me,” Sweet Pea interrupted heatedly. “There isn’t the gang member and the babysitter, two separate dudes.”

“Sweet Pea, I _know_ that. I just… I never want you to get hurt because of me.”

Her boyfriend laughed hard and Dagwood rocked in her arms, trying to get over to the grinning boy in black whom he’d readily adopted as his uncle.

“There’s one thing that has changed,” Sweet Pea admitted, taking the baby from Betty while she went to get Juniper, who was beginning to fuss. “I’m going to take care of you, ok? The exact same way I know you’d take care of me.”

Betty opened her mouth to argue, but her boyfriend cut her off.

“No, you have to accept that,” Sweet Pea instructed. “I’m always going to throw myself on a knife for you, babe.”

“Or a plastic baby spoon,” Betty said wryly, the funny expression on her niece’s face making her smile, “as the case may be.”


	4. So Much Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 72: “You deserve so much better.” and prompt 99: “I don’t care what they said, it doesn’t mean shit!”

What a fucking night. Invasion of the Northsiders, a variety show that turned into a strip show, F.P.’s un-retirement… and it was only 11 o’clock! Sweet Pea snorted to himself in amused amazement. None of it really had anything to do with him, but even being a spectator tonight was exhausting. He hauled the front door of the Whyte Wyrm open, stepping out to get some cold night air in his face, and halted abruptly, pressing himself back into the doorway. There were Betty and Jughead, having it out in the parking lot.

Having it out? That didn’t make sense, considering the girl had just swung herself half-naked around a pole for her boyfriend’s entertainment. What a couple of idiots.

Sweet Pea was about to go back inside and leave them to their argument when he realized Betty was crying, catching the neon reflection in her eyes as he turned his head away. And Jughead was leaving her, striding across the parking lot to the street. What the fuck?

No, he should get inside. Swipe a drink of somebody’s beer or bully Fangs into another game of pool.

He made it as far as gripping the edge of the door, then glanced back at Betty, standing there, shivering and alone.

“You deserve so much better,” he mumbled as kept her in his sights. Then, “Shit.”

At a jog, he approached her, shoes crunching broken asphalt. Betty glanced around, wiping at her face and crossing her arms protectively.

“You ok?” Sweet Pea asked. She looked startled. Maybe she really didn’t know him, but even his closest friends would’ve been surprised to hear him actively inquiring into how someone was doing.

“Fine,” she said shortly, sniffing hard.

“Don’t lie to me, Northsider,” he suggested. “You’re talking to somebody who’s been lying since he could talk and I do it a hell of a lot more convincingly than you do.”

Betty glanced up at him, clearly trying to be angry, but looking desperately sad.

“I’m not ok,” she confessed.

“Yeah, well,” Sweet Pea shrugged, wondering what he was doing, having this conversation here, now, with her. “Jones has his head up his ass like 90% of the time, so I’m sure he’ll come aro―”

“He dumped me.”

“He did?”

Betty let out a short, cynical laugh that hurt someplace deep inside Sweet Pea’s chest.

“Yep. Apparently my Serpent dance didn’t go over very well with him.” She paused to wipe at her eyes again. “Or with my mom, or F.P., or―”

“I don’t care what they said, it doesn’t mean shit!”

She gave him a wary look.

“Why would you say that?” Before he could respond, trying to scrape a castle of an answer out of the thoughts that turned to sand the longer he looked into her eyes, she continued. “Why would you care? Why are you being nice to me?” She took a step away from him.

“Betty―” He took that same step, after her.

“No, don’t answer. Please,” she begged, the word warbling out of her on the wings of a sob, “don’t answer. You told me what a good liar you are. I could never believe what you said.”

He couldn’t figure out how to get the words he wanted to say to this heartbroken, beautiful blonde going in the same direction, but his hand knew how, and that direction was straight for her. Instinctively, Sweet Pea stroked her bare upper arm, feeling goosebumps. He breathed out, heart racing, and she shuddered as their eyes met, though the skin under his palm was growing warm.


	5. The Schoolteacher and the Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 93: “It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion.” and prompt 98: “Hold me back!”
> 
> Western AU!

“Hold me back!” one of Betty’s youngsters squeaked; it was the voice he’d created for the puppet he was posing on the little stage Fred Andrews had constructed for their show. Another puppet, flailingly controlled by her friend Josie’s daughter, came whizzing across the desert backdrop to perform the task, wrapping oversized puppet arms around its companion.

A rival puppet with a black hat and lopsided mustache waved his arm sort of threateningly, brandishing the felt gun Betty herself had stitched to its hand and screeching his rejoinder in the tone of the seven-year-old child who wielded him. Betty gasped loudly from the front row, pretending she hadn’t seen it all before during a dozen practice runs, and signalled with her hand at the same time to cue the entrance of the next character.

It was absolutely engrossing, playing both spectator and director, but the young teacher wasn’t so absorbed that she missed a male voice openly mocking their production. Her lips tightened as she fought to keep focused through this, the final scene, but as soon as they play ended―with hearty applause from all those who had stopped at their amateur theatre alongside the schoolhouse―Betty rose with a whip of her skirts and sought the jackass who had dared criticise her students.

“Did you ever see anything so pathetic?” a tall man in dark clothes was asking of his companion, similarly dressed. The look of them told her these were two members of the notorious Serpent gang currently passing through Riverdale on the way to nothing good. The sight of them would’ve stopped a more fearful woman in her dusty tracks. It didn’t stop Betty.

“It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion,” she said, sweetly and sarcastically, holding her head high. “Maybe for our next performance we’ll take notes from the stupidest people we can find. If you’re still in town, I’ll be sure to solicit your review.”

With that, she turned on her heel, equally satisfied with herself and annoyed with the man for the amused grin that had developed on his face as she spoke. The worst thing about it was how handsome it made him look.

The children were scattered, chattering and chasing each other with the puppets. Betty began collecting additional props, plus the stool one of the littler ones had been standing on to reach the stage. When she turned around, the Serpent man’s friend was gone, but he was staring straight at her. She looked quickly off to the side. He got in her way, clearly on purpose, so she trod across his boot. His laughter (well, fine, maybe she didn’t weigh enough to hurt him) inspired her to adjust the stool in her hands, making one leg connect with the man’s groin. She strolled by with a satisfied smile, but he was still standing there―more upright than she’d left him―when she came back out of the schoolhouse and started down the steps. In fact, he’d made himself quite comfortable, leaning on the railing, one boot resting on the lowest step.

“Well,” Betty suggested, irritation making her bolder than she was known to be in her town, “you’d better get going. There are many more children in Riverdale besides the ones attending this school and I’m not sure I’d be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t think you’d managed to harass them all.”

The man shrugged and pushed his wide-brimmed hat back on his head. Looking down on him slightly from a higher step, Betty saw how young he was, maybe around sixteen, like herself. It surprised her.

“Or I could give up that pursuit and find a way to help you sleep instead.” He gave her a lazy, self-assured grin that she told herself she didn’t enjoy one bit.

“If you continue to speak to me in that manner, I’ll shout for Archie Andrews and he’ll put _you_ to sleep. Permanently,” she clarified, narrowing her eyes at him.

“You’re his gal?”

“Well, I…” Betty faltered. “He’s my oldest friend.” Realizing she was being distracted, she glared at the man. “Now leave. I mean it.”

He held up his hands in surrender, looking unbothered.

“Could do that, but I’d rather apologize first.”

Betty considered this and finally nodded. What an odd man this stranger was turning out to be! A moralist criminal. Of all the novelties to breeze through town.

“Phrase it as best you can, though I suspect I’ll have to improve your speech before I can offer it to the children.”

The man clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth, apparently disapproving of something she’d said. Betty was certain it was only the truth and clasped her hands in front of her, preparing to receive his admission of guilt and request for forgiveness.

“I’m not the least bit sorry about that,” he revealed with a snort, “but, hell, they’re kids. Little toughness is good for ‘em. Little truthfulness. That’s how Serpents are raised.”

Betty’s mouth fell open.

“If you weren’t sorry for your initial ill-treatment of them, then the apology must have been something you thought up in advance for that horrid speech you’ve just spoken to me!”

“I’m beginning to be curious,” he admitted, hand sliding higher up the railing as he leaned towards her.

“About what exactly?” Betty inquired stiffly.

One of her students came bounding up the stairs and she was forced to step down, closer to the man.

“How many times you’ll be wrong about me. Also,” he added, “about your name.”

Exasperated, Betty crossed her arms tightly, then recalled it wasn’t tremendously ladylike and unfolded them again. Too quickly, she shot her hand out for the railing and laid it accidentally atop his. She snatched it back and he laughed at her. No one ever laughed at her!

Evidently accepting that she would not be providing the information he sought, the man went on.

“So. My apology. I’m sorry for saying I would help you find a way to sleep,” he began contritely. Suddenly, his mischievous grin returned. “Because there’s nothin’ to look for. I know exactly how I’d tire you out.” His gaze swept over her like a dust storm and Betty felt all turned around.

Her good sense and her student Catherine Mantle returned at the same moment, the latter carrying the black-hatted-puppet loosely in her hands. Betty grabbed it and hurled it at the man, smacking him square in the face. She wished that little felt gun had been real because the force of it hitting him might’ve broken his nose which she, normally so passive, found she dearly wanted to do.

At least he appeared startled.

“Miss Elizabeth!” the child exclaimed, shocked to see the character thus abused.

“It’s alright, Cat,” Betty assured her, taking her gently by the shoulders and steering her ahead of herself into the schoolhouse, “I’ll mend it later.”

“Elizabeth,” the man idly commented. Ill-advisedly, Betty gave him the pleasure of letting him catch her eye. She rolled hers excessively. He tapped his chest. “Sweet Pea.”

“Like the flower?” she asked, halfway across the threshold.

“Precisely, miss.”

“What an unfortunate association,” Betty scaldingly declared. “For the plant, I mean.”

“I will allow you the privilege of rethinking that comment, fair Elizabeth, once you’ve been close enough to smell me.”

“A fantasy, sir.”

He tilted his head as though with epiphany.

“That must be why I’m already dreaming of it.”

Betty slammed the door shut, already wondering which establishment she’d have to accidentally walk into for supper tonight in order to encounter him again.


	6. Private Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 1: “Do you want me to leave?” ; prompt 13: “I could kiss you right now!”; and prompt 17: “This is all your fault!”

Jeeze Louise, when the Serpents celebrated, they _celebrated_. Betty dodged more than one swaying indulger on her way to the storeroom to top up Toni’s supplies. The girl hadn’t asked for anything or sent Betty to run this errand for her, but that was only because she hadn’t had a chance. Drink orders, both slurred and enunciated, had been flying since Betty had walked into the Wyrm an hour earlier. She couldn’t understand why Toni had decided to bartend on the night of her girlfriend’s acceptance into the gang. Maybe Cheryl had requested to be thrown in the deep end, forced to interact with her universally leather jacketed new extended family. Predicting her cousin’s eccentricities was a battle just waiting for Betty to lose it.

Another toast to the newest Serpent went up as Betty snuck down the back hallway, grinning. It was possible that Cheryl hadn’t quite known what she was getting into with this gang, but it was highly probable that the Serpents were even less prepared for Cheryl.

Now, she knew the storeroom was back here… Aha! A propped open door. Betty bounded to it, eager to return to the party and surprise Toni with her helpfulness. She hauled the door open (it was heavier than she’d thought) and began to step inside. Abruptly, she stopped, her sneaker scuffing the old linoleum. She wasn’t alone: Sweet Pea sat on the floor across from where she stood, back against a shelf. Feeling awkward to be alone with someone she’d never really had a conversation with, Betty faltered, twisting the doorknob behind her back to channel her discomfort. He glanced sharply up at her.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, trying to be polite and not nosy, though she did wonder what one of Toni’s best friends was doing in, essentially, a closet on such a momentous occasion.

Sweet Pea shrugged, though he looked at her carefully. He’d gone off on her once in the past, but Betty liked to think they could see a little more eye to eye now that the whole community had begun to be knit back together―Cheryl, as Northsider as a Northsider could be, being admitted into the Serpents was surely proof of that.

“Go or stay, just don’t―”

Betty stepped forward to hear him and lifted her hand from the doorknob.

“―close the door.”

There was a solid slam from directly behind her. Betty spun as Sweet Pea hopped to his feet.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, rotating and tugging at the doorknob. “Is it locked? Why is it locked?”

Sweet Pea shouldered her aside, trying the doorknob for himself. Even in the midst of her panic, Betty found strength to roll her eyes.

“It’s always locked, Girl Genius,” he replied sarcastically. “Room full of booze―” Sweet Pea gestured around them, “―bar full of alkies―” he thumped his fist against the door, “―you don’t think they keep it locked?”

Not a particular fan of being condescended to, Betty turned to face Sweet Pea, ready to reply until she realized they were practically chest to chest, standing there between the racks of bottles and cans stacked to the ceiling.

“So, um,” she started, taking a cautious step backwards and swallowing hard under the tall boy’s rather intense gaze, “how did you get in?”

“It was already open. Sometimes they keep the bolt fired and let the door rest open so they don’t have to unlock it every time.”

“Then how did it shut?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sweet Pea joked meanly, letting his head fall to the side as he accused her in not so many words, “why don’t we ask the person who was fiddling with the fucking doorknob right before we got locked in here!”

Betty scoffed, folding her arms around her sweater-ed middle.

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically. “I’m sorry. Somebody’ll be here any second to rescue you.”

“Actually...” Betty shifted guiltily, “…I didn’t tell anyone I was headed back here and the bar’s a little too crowded to assume someone would’ve noticed.”

“Toni?”

“Busy.”

“Cheryl?”

“Basking in the attention.”

“Jones?”

“Which?”

“The one with the stupid hat.”

“We’re not really on each other’s radar so much anymore,” Betty admitted weakly.

“Great,” Sweet Pea groaned, totally insensitive.

“Excuse me,” she demanded, taking a step back towards him, “but you shouldn’t have even been in here!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have been in the Wyrm!”

“Maybe you should’ve had a key!”

“Are you kidding me? This is all your fault!”

His volume startled her and Betty hastily retreated. Sweet Pea caught up in one stride, grabbing her arm.

“Don’t…” he began to admonish her, until his eyes went to her lips, “…knock anything over,” he finished more softly.

“Ok,” she promised. “Maybe we should just… knock on the door.”

Sweet Pea nodded once and turned, pounding it firmly with his fist. They waited, listening, for a good 30 seconds.

“Nobody’s gonna hear us,” he pointed out.

“Oh, they will,” Betty insisted, pushing around him this time. She noticed, passingly, that he smelled pretty good. She shook her head. For a Serpent who’d been sitting on the ground in a room full of alcohol, she clarified to herself. Before she could get half a dozen knocks in, Sweet Pea caught her wrist.

“You’ll break your fingers before they ever hear you.”

“Do you know from experience?” she huffed.

“Could be.”

There he was again, standing a little too close for normal, non-intimate conversation. Betty felt slightly dizzy and told herself it was just because she was having to look up at him.

“It’s not so bad in here,” he offered with a shrug, then smirked at her. “You won’t go thirsty.”

Betty laughed.

“That’s why I came, actually. Some of your fellow Serpents are getting a little rowdy out there. I was thinking I’d get some soda so Toni could make the rum and Cokes a little less rum, a little more Coke.”

“No way,” Sweet Pea joked, more kindly than before. “You came in here to get drinks?”

“Knock it off.” Without thinking, she whacked him in the chest with the back of her hand. He smiled like he didn’t mind… or he a little _more_ than didn’t mind. Betty’s heart sped up like it had been the one slammed into.

He stepped away, leaning his back against the door and keeping dark, unreadable eyes fixed on her, smile still in place.

“What were you doing in here that I interrupted?” Betty asked quickly.

“Feeling sorry for myself,” Sweet Pea said, chin rising a little like he was expecting to get punched there for his vulnerability.

“Over what exactly?”

Sweet Pea gave her a searching look.

“I’m pissed about Cheryl,” he finally answered.

“You don’t like her?” Understandable, Betty thought. Even after discovering their blood connection, it had taken time for her to really warm to her cousin.

“I don’t like her breaking up me, Toni, and Fangs,” he grumbled. Betty frowned sympathetically.

“Well,” she ventured, “this must have happened to you three before. Some other girl or guy―”

“There’s never been anybody this important. Toni wanted her in the _gang_.”

Betty nodded, getting that this was a big deal. From experience, she knew it was a big enough deal that Jughead hadn’t wanted her in the gang when she’d tried to get closer to him.

“It’d be different, I guess, if each of you had someone.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “For a little while, I really thought Fangs and your friend Kevin, but, uh, no dice.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“And… you?” she asked tentatively, wondering at the feeling in her chest while she awaited his answer.

Sweet Pea only shrugged with a slight smirk, giving her nothing.

“So really… I’ve helped you out,” she concluded. Sweet Pea stared at her, confused. “It’s hard to think of an excuse for missing the celebration more legitimate than being locked in the storeroom with no one to hear, um…” He was walking towards her. Betty licked her lower lip. “…no one to hear you knocking.”

Breath a little shaky, she backed into a shelf that rattled on impact.

“You sure you don’t have a key?”

Sweet Pea grinned down at her and made a show of patting his jacket pockets. His hands lowered to hover in front of the pockets of his jeans and her eyes followed. He caught her looking.

“You wanna help?”

Betty flushed and Sweet Pea’s eyes moved over her, probably picking up on the ferocious thumping of her heart.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, planting a palm on his chest as she pushed past him.

“What the fuck?” he said, sounding mildly annoyed but willing to put up with her.

“I know how we can get out of here!” Betty probed her fingers into her hair, just below her ponytail, and plucked out a bobby pin. “I’ll pick the lock!”

“Yes!” Sweet Pea shouted, hurrying to the door to stand next to her. “I could kiss you right now!”

Hand halfway to the lock, Betty paused. She looked at the bobby pin in her hand, then up at Sweet Pea, his muscular arm pressing into her shoulder.

“Well,” she offered slyly, “we could stay and do that instead.”

He met her gaze. Raised his eyebrows. Reached for her face. Betty practically jumped into his arms as they came around her. In all the stroking of his neck and the running of her fingers through his hair while he kissed her deeply, Betty forgot to hang onto the bobby pin. It took her a while to notice.


	7. Let's Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 68: “Well, this is where I live.”

The pedestrian signal was flashing red and his jacket was over her shoulders. The pair of them stuttered forward and back, his rubber-soled sneakers longing to squeak, yet unable on wet concrete; it had rained while they were in the movie. When they, tacitly, decided to wait to cross rather than racing to the other side of the road before the light firmly forbade it, Sweet Pea’s hand shot out and clasped Betty’s. He was jumpy and everything below the shoulder felt paralyzed, but he’d done it. He had her hand! Now what?

Sweet Pea exhaled and let his gaze sneak sideways until it locked with Betty’s and she smiled and he panicked.

“So you liked it? The movie?”

His first words in four blocks, and an almost exact copy of those he’d said as they’d pressed out of the Bijou’s doors.

“Yeah.” Betty laughed a little, probably at him, but he deserved it for being so goddamn spacey. “What did you think?”

“Kickass,” Sweet Pea stated. “I’ve never gotten away with stealing anything trickier than a wine bottle. It’s nice to have role models.”

She laughed harder and he felt her fingers wiggle and twist until, suddenly, miraculously, they were intertwined with his. What he didn’t bother to say was that his real favourite part of _Ocean’s 8_ had been the vibrant costumes; Sweet Pea was near certain that was the element he had to thank for letting him stay focused on the screen instead of the angel sipping cream soda and smelling like GIRL in the seat beside his.

“How did you pull that one off?”

“Oh, straight up the sleeve, then clutch the arm like you’re favouring an injury,” Sweet Pea explained with a shrug. “Child’s play.”

Betty gave him a respectful nod, lips in a pink smirk that darkened near the middle. Probably had a tongue fuchsia from her soda. He was still staring at her face when her eyes turned greener.

“Let’s walk,” he said, jerking his head at the signal now in their favour.

They hadn’t _exactly_ talked about where they were going, but they’d left the Bijou with a buzz, eyes glimmering from being on a first date that didn’t feel over yet to either of them. Sweet Pea just felt… connected to her. He knew if he’d walked her home, he would’ve laid down on the lawn and stared up at her window all night, heart thumping, eyes uninterested in the stars.

They crossed to the other side of the street and Sweet Pea could feel that thing happening―that thing that happens at a dance, where the partners inch together, so slowly that the song might end before they’ve reached that point where their adrenaline dies down and they can tell they’re holding the other person like they want to, like they wanted to when they started dancing, but didn’t have the guts to. It was going on between him and Betty because the universe was a conscientious and benevolent place that cared for Sweet Pea and wanted to put his accomplishments up in the sky as constellations like the largescale version of taping a kid’s art to the fridge.

Their hands loosened from each other’s and their inner arms rubbed together, then Betty’s fingers were sneaking along the back of his shirt and holding a belt loop of his jeans on the far side from where she was walking along next to him. Sweet Pea lifted his hand and brushed her hair away from the back of her neck to lay his arm there. It dangled over her shoulder, warming the leather.

Apparently, Riverdale had kept on existing while they were wrapped up in the _rightest_ first date he’d ever been on (out of, ok, not so very many), because they were standing outside of his Southside apartment building.

“Well,” Sweet Pea said, looking down and aligning his shoe with a gruesome crack in the sidewalk, “this is where I live.”

He felt Betty’s hip when she tucked herself closer and watched her eyelashes lower as she probably devised a plan to take off, possibly including the words, ‘thanks, but no thanks,’ or at least the sentiment.

She said, “I like it.”

“No shit?” he gasped. “Sorry.” Sweet Pea swallowed, collecting himself. “You want to…?”

“Mhmm,” Betty agreed.

They were awkward at the door of the building, ending up with him holding it open while she passed under his arm. Except that she lingered there, sheltered by him, hovering like a dragonfly. He held his breath (which just made him breathe harder) when Betty reached up and stroked the chain slung from his neck. She twitched her head and continued inside and he stood there, hardening in his pants, wondering what exactly she’d just talked herself out of. And if that mystery urge would come again.


	8. Is Not That Strange?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 42: “His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow.”

The stage lights were scorching, radiating an uncomfortable heat over Sweet Pea, who sat in the third row of the auditorium, just in front of the director’s desk. The Serpent let his head bang back onto that surface to give Fangs an upside-down _how much longer?_ look. Sneaking a sideways glance at Kevin, Fangs surreptitiously lifted one palm from the table, fingers splayed. Five minutes. Yeah right. Sweet Pea glared at his friend and heaved his head upright. He tugged at and finally rerolled his shirt sleeves, trying to cool himself down a little. He should’ve known better than to be talked into waiting through the auditions for Fangs and Kevin’s latest joint theatrical undertaking; Fangs was going to owe him for this one.

“Can we have the students auditioning for the role of Benedick next?” Kevin called out commandingly, making Sweet Pea jump and bang his elbow on the narrow, unyielding armrests penning him into his seat. “My mistake,” Kevin corrected. Sweet Pea heard papers rustling behind him. “The _student_. I see there’s only one.”

Archie bounded out onto the stage like he was finishing a peppy lap of the football field. Sweet Pea rolled his eyes so hard it hurt the inside of his face.

“Uh, I’m going to read Benedick’s conversation with Beatrice towards the end of Act 4 Scene 1.”

“An ambitious choice,” Kevin commented. Sweet Pea mouthed the words, though the mimicking felt wasted without an audience. _Ugh_ , why was he here? “Betty,” the director continued, causing an eager face to pop out from offstage, blonde ponytail swinging behind, “why don’t you read Beatrice’s part here? We haven’t cast her yet.”

“Sure,” the girl said with a smile too kind and genuine for Sweet Pea to want to mock.

“My Hero!” Kevin shouted in return. So obviously a gag-worthy pun, but Sweet Pea watched the way Betty’s shoulders tipped forward with her laugh and found he could forgive the director’s subpar sense of humour. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Sweet Pea watched Betty and Archie put their heads together over their folded scripts for a minute, with some nodding by the former and pointing by the latter. They separated and all he could think was, _wrong_. It just looked wrong. So maybe none of the blocking had been done yet, but they were too far apart. Sweet Pea wasn’t a Shakespeare aficionado or anything, but Fangs had been carrying the play everywhere for weeks, sometimes even mumbling it aloud to himself (extremely irritating), so he’d experienced a kind of second-hand exposure. It was also possible that Sweet Pea had picked it up a couple times himself, but only when he needed bathroom reading material. Anyway, he knew enough about the dynamic of these characters to know Archie was fucking it up. Sweet Pea exhaled hard through his nose and thumped his feet up to rest on the back of the seat in front of his―until Fangs jabbed him in the back of the head with a pencil. He let his shoes thud to the floor as Archie began to speak.

“ _Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?_ ”

Already, Sweet Pea could hear the co-directors scribbling away. He had a few notes himself.

“ _Yea,_ ” said Betty, perfectly plaintive, “ _and I will weep a while longer_.”

“ _I will not desire that_.” _And yet you’re standing too fucking stiffly to make it seem like you give half a crap_ , Sweet Pea thought.

“ _You have no reason; I do it freely_.”

As they progressed, Sweet Pea was captivated. Not by Archie― _hell_ no―who sucked as much as ever, but by Betty. How the hell had Kevin and Fangs cast this girl as the docile-to-the-point-of-wilting Hero? She was a Beatrice through and through, even matched with a pathetic piece of shit like this playing Benedick.

“ _I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?_ ”

Sweet Pea didn’t know why the half dozen people in the auditorium seemed to hold their breath as Archie delivered that line to Betty because, personally, he wanted to scream. Mercifully, the director interrupted them there.

“Hold for a moment, please!” Kevin shouted. Sweet Pea slung an arm over the seat beside him so he could easily glance between the director and the directees. “Archie, I’m wondering if you could read that last line differently.”

“Yeah, sure, Kevin. What did you have in mind?”

 _Moron_ , Sweet Pea thought, cracking his finger with his thumb.

“I think this scene is a little challenging because we’re seeing the relationship between Benedick and Beatrice almost in its final stage, so you haven’t had the chance to build momentum to this moment.”

“But it’s a fairly slow scene,” Archie commented, like an idiot.

“ _Weeeell_ ,” Kevin began slowly, “it might not have the bite of some of the play’s earlier dialogue, but you have to remember that this is still the same Benedick.”

“Hasn’t he, like, emotionally evolved at this point?”

“So it would seem,” Kevin answered in a tone of faux-wisdom that made Sweet Pea snort, then muffle the noise into an awkward cough. “But the old Benedick hasn’t disappeared. Think back to his introduction in Act 1 Scene 1. His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow. That man still needs to be present three acts later.”

“Right,” Archie agreed, nodding hard and scanning his script. “Got it. So, run it again?”

Sweet Pea watched Kevin nod, then settled back into his seat, arms crossed critically. When Archie hit Benedick’s declaration again and it sounded precisely the fucking same, Sweet Pea expected the director to halt them. But he didn’t. Even Betty was glancing out towards the desk, looking like she was checking for a signal to pause. She didn’t falter in the lines though, which Sweet Pea thought was impressive as hell, considering this wasn’t even the character she’d been preparing to play.

Betty came to Beatrice’s own avowal and Sweet Pea couldn’t stand it. Archie was just… existing on that stage. And _barely_ managing that. Sweet Pea’d beat up plenty of people, but this! This was pure fucking butchery.

“UGH!” he complained at full volume before he could prevent himself.

The actors quit acting. The directors quit writing. Sweet Pea figured it was too late to sink down in his seat (also, he was too tall), so he clambered over the rows in front of him and hoisted himself onto the stage.

“You mind?” he asked, then snatched the script from the redhead’s hands. “Look,” he instructed, gesturing at the page the pair had been reading from. “This is a huge turning point in their relationship. This boyish Clark Kent charm you’ve been milking isn’t cutting it here, Andrews.”

Archie scoffed and stared from Sweet Pea to Kevin, but the director wasn’t coming to his rescue. Sweet Pea smirked to himself in satisfaction. Then he caught Betty’s rather curious eye.

“Watch and learn,” he told Archie.

He and Betty took it from Archie’s chosen starting point, but this time Sweet Pea began close to her. When he talked about Beatrice’s tears, he touched Betty’s face. When he voiced Benedick’s shock at finding he had fallen in love, he touched his own, and practically had a heart attack when Betty reached out for him, going on the natural instincts that had made her a pleasure to watch while he was in the audience.

They read beyond where Archie and Betty had gotten, the emotion only mounting as Beatrice delivered her great request. The ‘ _exeunt_ ’ at the end of the scene was the clear stopping point, but shortly prior to it, Sweet Pea fucked up.

“ _Tarry, good Beatrice_ ,” he read. “ _By this hand, I love thee_.”

And he wrapped that hand around hers. And he pulled Betty against him. And he kissed her passionately while sweat ran down his back under those volcanic lights.

“Uhhh,” he droned, stepping back. Betty’s face was bright red and she looked a little dizzy, but she shot him a smile. Which was when Sweet Pea heard the clapping and turned towards the seats to see Kevin and Fangs on their feet.

“Benedick,” Kevin ruled, pointing unmistakably at Sweet Pea. “Beatrice.” He pointed at Betty. “We’ll recast Hero and, Archie,” Sweet Pea chuckled as the outcast quarterback lingering off to the side was address, “come back tomorrow and read for Claudio. I think that’ll be a better fit.”

On the page Sweet Pea still gripped in his clammy hand, it said Benedick and Beatrice exited last. In reality, the others gathered their papers and backpacks and filed out of the auditorium, while he and Betty were still standing on the stage with growing smiles―Sweet Pea too distracted by how bright green her eyes were in this light to realize he’d just accidentally joined his first extracurricular.


	9. Quiet Nights in Sickbay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the "Writing Prompts" list, prompt 2: “I swear it won’t happen again.” and prompt 4: “You can’t keep doing this.”
> 
> A Star Trek AU!

“What time are you back?” Betty enquired, keeping her head down as she precisely replaced the instruments that had been used earlier that day for major surgery after one of the Engineering ensigns got a little too cocky during a routine console patch.

“Oh six hundred,” Fangs replied, words distorted in a yawn.

Betty smiled to herself. With the Chief Medical Officer absent for a conference in Captain McCoy’s quarters, she was the senior crewman in sickbay. It was a sign of the trust she’d gradually earned from Fogarty―who’d kept to himself for months after the Enterprise left home―that he wasn’t worried about her writing him up for unprofessional behaviour. Really, who could blame him for the yawn? The shifts were long out here in Federation space and Betty had heard that, sooner or later, even the most stalwart recruits began to wish for disaster.

“I’m in four hours later,” she assured him cheerily, satisfied that her task was done correctly and entering a command to seal the tools away until they were needed again.

“You sure you don’t want me to call somebody in until the doc gets back?”

Betty laughed.

“I think I can manage a totally empty sickbay by myself for a little while longer.”

But she had spoken too soon. The doors whizzed open and Betty turned to see a tall man in a blue shirt stumble into the room holding his stomach, supported by an identically-clad man. It was a big ship―stately, immense, top-of-the-line and one-of-a-kind―so most of her fellow crewmates should’ve still been strangers to her. This was true for the red-faced human crutch crossing the threshold. Not so much for the dark-haired one bleeding profusely from his lip and forehead.

“What the fuck, Sweet Pea?” Fangs blurted out, getting out of their way as the shorter man led the taller to a bed. Betty knew the two of them had enlisted in Starfleet together, peas in a pod from the same small town.

“Thought you’d be happy to see a familiar face,” Sweet Pea joked, waving off his helper as he sat.

“Yeah, that’s not something we really hope for in this part of the ship. Cooper?” Fangs turned to her, clearly torn between exhaustion and wanting to fix up his buddy.

Betty waved him off, already hurrying over and setting out what she’d need to disinfect his wounds, stop the bleeding, and close the abrasions, should they prove to be deep.

“Get to bed. They’ll need you sharp in the morning. You can go as well,” she added to the surplus Blue Shirt. “This won’t be a problem and I’m sure someone’s missing you in Science.” She gave the man a warm smile―something she’d found to be just as comforting as medicine to many a homesick crewmember.

After watching them both leave, Betty turned to her patient, dropping all friendliness from her expression like soiled gauze into the biohazard incinerator.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she warned Sweet Pea, treating his injuries with a touch as brusque as her current bedside manner.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, running his tongue along the inside of his lip after she’d numbed the cut.

“Getting hurt on purpose,” Betty hissed. “This is your third time in here this month!”

Sweet Pea grinned.

“You’re keeping track?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not, but the medical log that records every person in and out of here and the nature of their ailment sure is. Even without that, you’re making yourself conspicuous. Nobody else on this entire ship gets injured as often as you do.”

“That might change after tonight,” Sweet Pea countered with a nonchalant shrug. “I think the other guy might have complications that haven’t yet manifested.”

He laughed, then grabbed as his stomach again. Betty sighed.

“Does this hurt?” she asked, prodding him sharply between his splayed fingers.

“FUCK. Yes,” he spit out.

“Lie back,” she instructed. Sweet Pea’s grin returned, wider than ever. “I’m going to scan your ribs,” Betty clarified.

He grumbled, but did as he was told.

“So it was a fight this time?” she asked, observing the instrument in her hand rather than look at his face. Nothing was broken. She’d give him a painkiller injection for the bruising. “Who hit you? One of those little guys in Communications?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. No, just a small misunderstanding between myself and the Klingon defector.”

Betty groaned and finally met Sweet Pea’s eyes.

“You picked a fight with the one person onboard who could actually kill you?”

“I _think_ there’s a compliment in there,” he said with a smirk, “so thank you, Cooper.”

“You idiot. That adds male posturing to your list of stupid endeavors,” she informed him, counting on her fingers, “after deliberately getting trapped in a Jefferies tube when you know you have a history of claustrophobia and sticking your hands in countless dangerous places―most of which have had ungrounded electrical wiring. What will you think of next?” Betty asked sarcastically.

“I guess one of these times I’ll just have to ask you out,” he said thoughtfully, staring at the ceiling.

Betty’s mouth tried to lift at the corners, but she turned her face away before he could catch her moment of weakness.

“That’ll depend on what kind of harm you come to the next time. It’ll be tough to say much of anything if they bring you in unconscious.”

“Well, you monitor my heartrate, babe, and see if it doesn’t speed up a little when you’re nearby.” Sweet Pea gave her a wink. She just looked down at him tiredly, bracing her hands along the edge of his bed. “Ok, ok,” he conceded. Betty allowed him to heave himself up on one elbow when his cuts showed no sign of fresh bleeding. “I swear it won’t happen again. I’ll play nice with the rest of the crew and do my best not to put my hands anywhere I shouldn’t.”

“It’ll be interesting,” Betty began indifferently, trying to cool his heels after the obvious double entendre, “from a scientific perspective, to see if you can manage to get my attention in any way that doesn’t involve you being an abnormal medical case study.” She moved away to ready the painkiller.

“I suggest you don’t rule out surprises just yet,” he counselled her. “I think you’ll have an enormous professional interest in the size of my―”

In one smooth motion, Betty turned and pricked his neck. Sweet Pea collapsed onto his back, heading lolling to the side in instant deep sleep. After sneaking a quick look at the doors, she laid her hand on his cheek and brushed the thick dark hair (that had definitely grown beyond regulation length) from his eyes. Someday soon, she’d let this reckless smartass know how much she liked him when he was actually awake.


End file.
